


To Play  the Watchman

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Friendship, Hogwarts Era, The Quidditch Pitch: From Diagon Alley to Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-08
Updated: 2006-01-08
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Conflicted, Sirius watches Harry sleep.





	To Play  the Watchman

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for Lasair for HP Flashfiction. Lasair requested "Sirius/Harry (UST during OotP; can be one-sided or not as you choose)", which was actually harder than I thought it would be. The title comes from Shakespeare's Sonnet 61.

***  


* * *

Sirius nervously ran his hands through his hair, unsure of why he found himself peering into one of the guest rooms of 12 Grimmauld Place at three o'clock in the morning. 

Just then, a whimpered moan cut through the air, as a boy with messy black hair tossed in his sleep, flipping onto his stomach, limbs splayed in every direction. 

Ah, yes. Sirius suddenly remembered. He wondered how his godson could look so uncomfortable during sleep, his face flushed red, brow tinged with sweat. Wasn't sleep supposed to be a relaxing time? Sirius tentatively settled on the edge of the bed and held his breath as the mattress noticeably descended, hoping that he wouldn't wake Harry or Ron Weasley, who slept nearby. 

Seeing Harry's eyebrows knit, Sirius wondered what Harry was dreaming about. Voldemort? He knew that the scar connected them. 

Hesitantly, Sirius lifted a trembling hand to trace the zigzag shape. Mere centimetres from its intended destination, Sirius cursed inwardly, and hurriedly dropped the hand back to his lap. Gasping quietly, Sirius closed his eyes, wishing his hand hadn't landed quite so close to the heat pooling in his groin. He could have lied to himself if it hadn't. He'd merely been checking on his godson, purely out of concern, out of love for Lily and for James. 

James.... 

The face was that of his best friend's, but somehow older and more delicate than his father's. Honestly, the resemblance was startling and his time in Azkaban had blurred the edges of years so much that he sometimes thought he was fifteen again, too, and that Harry _was_ James. It was something about how the way Harry's face split when he smiled. 

Thrashing again, Harry made a small mewling sound and rolled, so the front of his body nudged against the back of his godfather's sitting form. Sirius inhaled sharply, not expecting the contact, thinking he'd finally woken Harry up. But no, the face was still one of deep concentration, the eyes closed. 

The eyes. Lily's eyes, which was something Sirius supposed Harry must get awfully sick of hearing. It was true, though. Lily's eyes showed her emotion, a trait which had been passed right to her son. He can see those reproachful eyes of hers even now, a mix of cautiousness and exasperated amusement. That Look reserved purely for James and him. It was those now-hidden eyes that belied Harry's age, making him somehow far older than James had ever been when he was fifteen. 

Earlier that evening, those pain-filled, old eyes stared accusingly at everyone in the room, causing Sirius, even now, to cringe inwardly. Being cooped up in this house for weeks, Sirius had been thrilled to learn of his godson's impending arrival, even if it was under less than ideal circumstances. The last time Sirius had seen him, it had been moments after Voldemort's return. Harry was bleeding, leg hurt, eyes devoid of light. Sirius had wanted to...to.... 

Well, Sirius wasn't sure exactly what he'd wanted to do, but it was _something_. 

Harry moved again, his face now buried into the side of Sirius's thigh. This time, Sirius couldn't resist the temptation and he tangled his fingers through the surprisingly soft mass of hair. Keeping his fingers on the side of Harry's scalp, Sirius cupped his godson's cheek, rubbing his thumb along the underside of Harry's jaw. Sirius wouldn't admit the pleasure that coursed through him when something akin to a contented sigh passed Harry's lips. A moment later, though, Harry's face distorted again. 

Sirius desperately wanted to know how often Harry thought about that night. The differences in his demeanour from the time Harry and his friends had visited Sirius and Buckbeak in their cave to just this evening were marked. Did he think about that boy getting killed or about Voldemort binding him to that headstone? Perhaps that boy's death – what was his name? Cedric? – was the cause for these twisted sheets and facial contortions. Reluctantly pulling his fingers from Harry's hair, Sirius tried gently mopping the sweat from Harry's forehead, ignoring the droplets that had formed on his own. 

Sirius remembered how angry Harry had seemed earlier. It was nearly impossible to ignore Harry's voice carrying down the stairs to the Order meeting, shortly before it got underway. Sirius, shocked, had previously been unaware that Harry could even raise his voice. Easily excitable, perhaps, prone to going off on stupid quests, definitely, but mostly soft-spoken and sweet. Oddly enough, hearing Harry's voice waft down the stairs stood to remind Sirius once again that Harry wasn't his father. It had been Sirius who'd been known for his horrible temper and wild outbursts, even among his loved ones. James, for the most part a happy-go-lucky prankster, had just been along for the ride. 

After the Order meeting ended, Harry seemed calmer, but Sirius still felt compelled to tell him everything he'd demanded. Harry wasn't a child, for goodness sake's. Molly Weasley, to whom Sirius had previously felt grateful, insisted on smothering Harry, despite her brood huddled close to her side. Wasn't that the reason he was there? Sirius was Harry's _godfather_. Molly had enough of her own. 

Thinking about it caused a knot of anger to form in his stomach, despite the calming presence of sleeping Harry. Maybe Harry didn't need to know everything, but half of what was said within the Order had to do with him _anyway_. Sirius didn't want to replace James or stop those green eyes from looking so tired. He wasn't trying to stay on Harry's good side. Sirius needed to tell Harry that information for his own protection. He certainly hadn't noticed Harry's critical eyes staring accusingly at _him_. 

And if Sirius had leaned his forehead against the slick shower wall, fist around his cock, nearly biting through his lips to keep from crying Harry's name out as he came, that could be denied, too. 

Guiltily, Sirius pushed that thought far, far away from conscious thought, watching as Harry turned onto his back. 

Harry's too red mouth was slightly open now and he stirred again in his sleep, making one tiny noise after another. Sirius considered covering his ears, but couldn't bring himself to block out the sound, couldn't tear his eyes away from that face. The soft cries and low murmurings briefly became coherent and, almost moaning, a single word passed through Harry's parted lips. 

_"Sirius...."_

Eyes wide, Sirius fled. 


End file.
